No Hope Left
by zombiegirl6066
Summary: A prose, pre-edited, unpublished version of my manuscript.


Chapter One: 19th Hole

How could a mind be so fragile? How could a heart break into many pieces and shatter into a cold-hearted abyss like glass? How could a soul shred into fine threads of unfulfilled destiny?

"Maybe you should stop drinking, Soldier?" A voice woke me up from my mental pity party. It sounded pretty blurry, almost sympathetic. My uniform probably gave away my cover. Who cared? The blood hurdling war was over.

"How can…it?" I mumbled. My obscure question caught him off guard. There was no doubt that the security guards would be grabbing my shoulders at any minute. I would meet the exit, face to face, for the millionth time. It would be an all-time record. I waved my beer bottle in a three-sixty motion with my unsteady hand.

"Yeah," he stretched the enthusiasm in that single word, "you're definitely done." His sarcastic tone was unbearable.

The dark room contrasted with the overbearing lamps, which were, ironically, the size of a basketball. Migraines are a bitch. Images of distorted men and women seemed like shadows of the nonexistent.

"Sir?" The voice sounded again. Strangely, it seemed as if it held consideration for a poor soul like mine.

I dropped my bottle to the floor. It clattered against the tile floor beneath my stool. I began to wobble back and forth; the stool became spaghetti. I saw two hands reach forward to grab me. It was definitely too late. I did not give a shit. I hit that floor with a noticeable 'thud.' My 'thud' was traced by gasps and short shrieks by women, or men who were accidentally perceived as women.

I blinked a few times. Reality was not kind for those few seconds. The migraine was five times worse.

Voices scattered around me. Everything was a compressed blur. The Bartender was talking to his manager. When the manager's voice gradually excelled in volume, his footsteps did as well. Apparently, overdrinking was not required for the 19th Hole's appraisal. He was talking directly to me, probably attempting to knock some consciousness back into my senses.

When it became pitch black, I heard screams. They were from the other drunkards in the bar. Bottles were thrown down; windows were broken through, men directing the women where to head out, and what to loot. I did not, or could not, budge a muscle.

The screams that I heard were unreal. Nobody, but someone experiencing true horror could create these kind of screams.

In the midst of the convenient chaos, a helicopter came by. The moaning from the giant machine gradually accelerated in volume. The bar wasn't a bar anymore. The helicopter crashed through the wooden walls. It tore the entire fucking building apart.

"Help me!" A man screamed in agony. He was slowly consumed within the flames. He repeated himself to no end. "Help me! Help me! I can…See you there! FUCKING HELP ME!"

I had no clue who he was yelling at. I had a slight idea that it was me, but I couldn't open my eyes. God knows that I tried as hard as I possibly could. A few moments later, I heard nothing but fire cracking. No screams sounded. My senses hit me hard. I could smell again, but I regretted it. Burning flesh was familiar to me. The smell was repugnant. It brought back the painful memories. Those memories compiled of rotting corpses that I used for a barrier against the enemy. That smell was not as bad as this one.

I stumbled my way over to the corpse. Despite the flames, I thought that I should express my apologies toward the fallen men.

I took off my hat and placed it on my chest.

Before I had a chance to speak, a layering of the wooden wall fell to the floor. The whole building was turning to ashes. I only had minutes to spare.

"Fucking A…" I whispered under my breath in disbelief. I took my eyes off of the ashes and turned to a dead man. "I'm sorry that I left you hanging over here."

This place had seconds before it was ready to explode. I decided to split. I headed for the friendly exit, and, as soon as I stepped foot outside of the building, I discovered why the stench was so strong.

"Oh, shit…"

My body was stunned by what God, Himself, had painted before my very eyes. Corpses. More corpses. They weren't tan. Hell no. They were 'different.' This couldn't be the work of God. I'm not even sure if this was the work of Satan.

"I've gotta get to my truck!" I ran through my pockets to gather my keys. Everything that I needed was in my truck; my rifle, my transportation, my radio, my set of clothes. I never left for a 19th Hole without bringing an extra pair of clothes to 'cover my tracks.'

I looked to the direction of my truck and I saw a corpse. It seemed dead enough. It was lying down, with its legs sprawled out, on the concrete. Blood splattered across my white truck. That pissed me off. I knelt down on one knee. I was face to face with the dead body.

"You son of a bitch! You got my truck dirty."

Something didn't seem right. The corpse began to move. Its shoulders jerked. The clothing that was left on the body fell onto the ground. I was in shock. My worst nightmare came to life. The Dead walked again.

The body in front of me lunged forward. Its mouth opened wide. I, quickly, stepped back a couple paces. It began to crawl towards me. I looked into its rings. No eyes – at all. The soul had melted with the corpse. It was as if the body was left behind during the departure.

It moaned desperately. It crawled closer to me. I knew I had to destroy it with whatever I had on me. I had my strength, and, what else, my keys? All of my weapons were inside of my truck. I am a trained killer. Why the hell am I worrying about how to kill a dead target?

I grabbed my house key tightly. It was the sharpest and most useless key at the moment.

"This one's for shitting on my car with your fucking blood!"

I put the corpse in a headlock, and shoved my keys into its skull. I made sure that the brain stem was no longer intact with the rest of the nervous system. It felt like the past was creeping up on me. Killing became a survival skill all over again.

I noticed the other corpses stumbling over to my car. I knew it was time to split this joint. I rubbed my keys on my Camo. In case I needed another barrier, I picked up the dead body and put it inside of my truck. I did not think of where I needed to go until I started driving. The body was placed in the passenger's seat. She wasn't a hammer.

I drove in the opposite direction of the charging corpses. I glanced at the corpse beside me. I smiled at a dark thought; it was almost like the men I'd killed in the war came back to life to haunt me. Somehow, I was enlightened by that thought.

I decided that I needed to head straight home. I had to know whether or not my family was still alive. Well, at least, not decaying by each second. My baby daughter should be sleeping soundly in her crib. My wife should be watching those insane entertainment shows on AMC. My golden retriever should be barking up a storm from all of the commotion. I had to get home.

"Is there anything on?" I turned on the radio. Static was not amusing. "What the hell?" I switched to a few more different stations. "How long was I unconscious?" I looked over at the corpse. "Do you know?" Mocking this woman's death was painful enough. "Yeah, right," I said, reassuringly.

My engine began to whistle. "Damn it!" I knew that I was almost out of fuel. I checked the gas monitor. I was riding on Empty. I punched the wheel hard. The horn sounded in a synchronized tone twice.

I looked outside to scope my surroundings. I was in my neighborhood. Unfortunately, a couple corpses were prancing along my way.

I gunned the gas pedal. Within five seconds, my new tires would be as clean as a Hershey Bar. I yelled triumphantly as I plunged forward. Dead bodies were crushed by my metal machine. My truck would live out its last moments in a very honorable manner. I smiled with approval. No more worries, for now.

I turned the keys and rushed out of the truck. I grabbed my sniper and ran as fast as I could to my house. It wasn't far anymore. It was less than a five minute drive, so it would be an eight minute jog for me.

Exactly eight minutes later, I arrived at my driveway. I stopped in my tracks.


End file.
